


It Only Gets Worse

by athirstygoil



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Broken Bones, Cruel treatment, Dismemberment, Facial Injuries, Head trauma, Kidnapping, Mutilation, Other, Partial Blindness, Red is just having a Bad Time, Threats, Torture, forceful removal of a jaw, hopelessness, mental fatigue, noncon, preexisting fractures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:41:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25740760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athirstygoil/pseuds/athirstygoil
Summary: Kidnapped and tortured for the amusement of a very unstable UT!Sans, Fell!Sans doesn’t foresee how much worse it can be.The torture edition of No Harm, No Foul through Red’s perspective.
Relationships: Problematic Kustard - Relationship
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	It Only Gets Worse

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this as my application entry for a gore zine (I wanted a clear idea, okay? XD) but I didn’t make it in. It’s okay though! That just means you all get to read it instead! 
> 
> It has less sexual abuse because I wanted this to be an exercise in writing physical torture, with focus to the injuries, both previously existing and newly formed.
> 
> Please don't read if anything mentioned in the tags puts you in a bad place!

“hey red, got a little something fer ya.” 

The skeleton in that all too familiar blue jacket materializes a few feet in front of him. Sans barely moves his head. He wants to tell this copy of him his name isn’t Red. But he’s stopped trying. Fighting too many losing battles will do that to an individual, and Sans is left will little choice these days. The blurred shape of the pink slippers Sans has grown to loathe pad closer. “wanna see?” 

Sans tiredly rolls his one good eyelight up at him, the red blearily gazing at the infernal whites of his kidnapper. Sans wonders when they’ll become red like his.

“no need to act all excited,” his captor chuckles. Sans’ eyelight catches movement. There’s something behind his back. “we’ve got time ta really enjoy it.” His copy holds up whatever it is in front of him, an arm’s length away.

Sans doesn’t recognize what it is at first. His vision’s been off since the fucker cracked his socket. His whole head hasn’t been right since he bashed Sans’ skull into the cave walls of his prison. Sans squints at it with his good eyelight, the red hazy as it fixes on the object reluctantly.

“so ya _can_ still see,” his captor grins. “good, good. means ya still got some fight in ya, right?” Sans doesn’t answer. He’s still trying to parse what this long, thin thing in front of him is.

“here, lemme help ya out.” A blue blur sets down the object within Sans’ limited range of vision. “‘m sure you’ll be begging me ta tell ya where i found it.” 

Whatever it is, Sans doesn’t like the sound of that. What could he—

He manages to spot a long, white and red blur. But it’s not just one color. They’re… Hesitantly, Sans leans as far as he can forward. Though the chains hold him up, they keep him fairly close to the wall. What in the King’s Name… His captor is watching him, seemingly uninterested yet also gleeful he’s taking so long. Sans is uncomfortable with the stillness. It’s just the two of them breathing until the other him starts holding back a giggle.

Sans hesitantly reaches for it with the barest edge of his unchained foot. It’s a little difficult to, considering it’s just slightly out of reach. His toe catches on the red, and it takes a second for Sans to realize what he’s touching is fabric. The instant Sans nudges it precariously closer, he realizes there’s something... _in it_.

His captor’s wicked grin widens the same moment Sans freezes.

It’s an arm.

His soul beats loudly in his skull as he hurriedly tucks his leg back toward his damaged ribcage.

But it’s not just any arm.

His pinprick-small eyelight lightly smokes red, the barest hint of what little magic he has left, as Sans glares in the direction of his doppelgänger.

He unleashes a low growl, so tired yet so furious now. A defensive snarl, despite his lower jaw barely attached to his skull.

Sans knows that red glove anywhere. He doesn’t need to inspect it to know the fabric shows repaired wear where claws have repeatedly torn through the fingertips. That the length at the beginnings of the elbow is ripped in several places. Though it’s possibly a good thing, Sans swears he catches a whiff of powder; and barely notices the blurred dusting of greyish-white where the elbow should be.

He’s nauseated looking at this. He’s horrified this fucker even _has_ this—

“don’t worry,” his copy assures him with a toothy grin, “it’s not his dominant one.”

Fuck... **_FUCK!_ **

Tears well in Sans’ sockets, but that’s as far as they come. The rage quiets. He just doesn’t have the energy for it. He doesn’t seem to have enough these days.

Frustrated, Sans turns away, careful to avoid grazing his repeatedly fractured sternum with his patella.

“ya wanna see’im?” his tormentor baits. 

Of course he wants to—if his brother is here then—

“y’know what ta do.” Sans’ working eyelight dims.

He has to…? What does he have to—

The chains holding Sans upright loosen from under him. 

Sans stumbles forward and lands on his broken jaw. He winces when he feels the bone skid onto the rocky ground. There’s nothing to cushion his fall, not since the skeleton that shared his face sawed off the ends of his humeri. Sans moans, the only articulation he has left.

“c’mon sweetheart,” his captor sneers, fingers gripping Sans by the spine as he hoists him unceremoniously up. “y’remember what i said, right? though,” he chuckles, “y’might’ve been busy screaming yer skull off.”

Sans keeps his eyelight trained to the ground. He doesn’t want to remember. Nothing good comes from it.

“i can jog yer memory,” his captor smiles disparagingly. He reaches for Sans’ sternum. Sans flinches, but only barely, as his captor grabs for it full force, phalanges forcing their way through his ribs to cruelly seize the thin, flat bone. “it was when i was getting a good look are yer pretty, red soul.” Sans hates that he remembers in the exact moment his captor sticks a phalange into the slow-healing fracture across the main part of his breastbone.

_“if i find him i’ll bring a piece of him over to ya, okay? but y’gotta do something fer me.”_ Sans stutters and writhes, and his captor mercifully retreats to give Sans a few precious seconds of respite. 

The arm before him is proof enough, Sans knows this but—

“‘ssss ‘e…”

“ya got something ta say, red?” His captor smirks. 

“aaa—laaaivv?”

There’s a disapproving click of a conjured tongue as red magic drools to the ground. Sans can’t help it though, not since his teeth don’t align like they should anymore. In fact, his jaw isn’t even fully connected.

“look at cha, leaving a mess,” the fucker tuts. “least y’can still talk,” his eyelights gleam a salacious white. “gives me more material ta work with.” Sans involuntarily flinches. He didn’t think he still could either, but if Papyrus is alive, if there’s even a small speck of hope—

“yeah, he’s alive,” the other him confirms, “otherwise it’d just be dust in that glove.” To hear him say it alleviates Sans’ worries momentarily.

But there has to be a catch. There’s _always_ a catch.

“but ‘m gonna need proof that yer alive too.” Sans’ good eyelight shrinks as his captor saunters slowly forward. His blunt phalanges catch Sans hard at his broken mandible. Sans shudders, knowing full well what this means—

“gonna hafta take yer pretty voice,” he shakes his head, almost disappointed. Like it’s Sans’ fault.

“nn—!!” There’s an alarming pop and both the condylar and coronoid processes grate heavily in protest. He’s hooked his entire hand into Sans’ jaw and he’s pulling outward, practically making a show of it as Sans excruciatingly braces for the pain.

“can’t give’im one a yer arms,” his captor states casually, “not so different from some others skeleton’s.” He yanks. A part of Sans is almost thankful he can’t scream as he hears the previously existing fracture fully compound. “same with the leg,” his captor continues with a shrug. “just not convincing enough.” One more purposeful tug, and his captor rips out the piece of Sans’ jaw. He hums, pleased. “but hey, yer teeth are perfect. can’t replicate a jaw like this unless—” To Sans it’s just an angled blur, but he can see the sharp grooves of his back teeth, stopping jaggedly short of his parasymphysis. 

“—anyway,” his captor chuckles, “this’ll do nicely.”

Sans falls forward the moment his captor releases him. His zygomatic process grazes the stone floor, he shudders as a sob courses through him. Sans just wants to pass out. It’d be such a mercy right now.

The other half of his jaw hangs uselessly, brushing barely against his cervical vertebrae. His captor leans forward, condescendingly grinning down at him. Sans’ good eyelight locks onto the bastard, his breathing heavy to his acoustic meatuses. 

“thanks fer the help, sweetheart. ‘m sure yer edgy bro will appreciate this.” Blearily, Sans sees him waggle his jaw like it’s some kind of toy before leaving Sans to wallow in his misery.

It’s only then Sans lets his tears roll freely.

Why couldn’t he have just taken his gold tooth? It would have been enough, why take his fucking _jaw_? Another sob. Sans curls into himself as much as his soreness will allow.

The point was to see him suffer.

The point was to see him in pain.

The sick fuck just wanted to do whatever he wanted now that he had him. Sans should’ve dusted him the moment he became overfriendly. The moment those lazy, white eyelights became dangerously piercing. The moment that fucking grin of his became beastly.

The more Sans told himself he didn’t deserve this, the more torture the bastard put him through.

Now, it’s not just Sans anymore. Papyrus is here too. Sans wonders what he did to trap his strong, capable brother here. He wonders what Papyrus thought when he willingly surrendered at the promise of Sans’ freedom. He wonders how he’s doing, if he’s still fighting.

Sans wonders if he’s still alive. 

**Author's Note:**

> This technically belongs in the realm of No Harm, No Foul but I hesitate to actually include it in as one of the instances between Alt and Red. Alt would want to keep Red as intact as possible, so I don’t really see the above fic to be what Alt would truly do, no matter how messed up he is.


End file.
